


какао

by youaremarvelous



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Kid Fic, M/M, Sick Katsuki Yuuri, Sickfic, Single Parent AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-26 13:47:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13237005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youaremarvelous/pseuds/youaremarvelous
Summary: Fortunately for Yuuri, keeping his daughter in good health is easy now that he's dating her pediatrician.Unfortunately for him, making out with a doctor isn't an adequate substitute for a flu shot.





	какао

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alipiee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alipiee/gifts).



> Al! Hi hello! I had you for the victuuri gift exchange! Sorry I'm posting outside the group, but my fic has a holiday theme so I wanted to get it posted. I was very excited to see you request single parent Yuuri because honestly, I'm all about that idea. Aaaand I made it a sickfic because who am I ahahaha. I hope you enjoy the fic and have had a super wonderful & victuuri filled holiday!!!
> 
> * warning for a very brief, non-descriptive mention of blood/minor injury

“I can’t believe you dragged me here just because you want to see your boyfriend.”

 

Yuuri gives a tired sniffle and adjusts the red-tinged wad of fast food napkins he’s been holding against his daughter’s temple for the better part of an hour. “Nina-chan,” he says simply, barely managing to keep the quiet warning from devolving into a sigh. He doesn’t point out the obvious fact that she’s bleeding from her head and had been sitting right next to him when her coach had insisted Yuuri remove her from the hockey game early to get her checked for a concussion. He’d explained those things multiple times already—on their way out of the rink, at least three times in the car between cursing quietly under his breath whenever he felt his tires spin on the icy road, and again at the check-in desk—and honestly, his throat is getting sore from the effort.   

 

“Nina Kat...sooki,” a harried-looking nurse calls over her clipboard.

 

Nina crosses her arms over her lap and rolls her eyes. “It’s Katsuki,” she corrects when Yuuri encourages her up by her elbow.  

 

“Sorry,” Yuuri mumbles to the nurse when they reach her. He relates to her disheveled hair and under eye bags on a spiritual level. “Busy day?”

 

The nurse doesn’t reply but her pinched smile is enough to deliver the message. She ushers them to a zoo-themed room and takes Nina’s vitals, settling on the stool across from her. “So what’s the reason for our visit today?”

 

Nina glares at the nurse through her blood-matted bangs for a good thirty seconds before Yuuri shakes himself out of his sinus pressure induced stupor and intervenes. “Er, sorry, she took a hockey stick to the head...during a hame.  _Game_...a hockey one.”  

 

Nina casts her Dad a disdainful look and the nurse quirks an eyebrow at him.

 

“Her coach advised we get her checked for a concussion,” Yuuri continues, cheeks warming under the weight of their palpable judgment. He distantly wonders if calling Kaasan twice in one month to cry about being an incompetent parent is toeing the line of excessive or not.

 

The nurse takes a heavy breath and finishes typing up a few notes. “The doctor will be in to see you shortly,” she says briskly, snapping her laptop shut and sliding it under her arm. The sound of the door closing behind her can’t be very loud, but it reverberates through Yuuri’s joints, anyway, worsening his growing headache.  

 

“So—” Yuuri clears his throat after a few minutes of awkward silence interrupted only by his quiet coughs and intermittent sniffles. He blinks at the giraffe height chart on the opposite wall, mentally cross-referencing it with the colorful tick marks in Nina's doorway at home. “You’ve grown two centimeters. That’s pretty exciting.”

 

Nina stares fixated on her iPad and shrugs.

 

“You’ll be as tall as Goncharenko in no time. Taller, I bet.”

 

“She’s not my favorite, anymore,” Nina’s response is clipped. She taps around on her screen, her nose scrunched up in concentration as she guides a wig-wearing minion down a path of floating bananas.

 

“Oh…” Yuuri mentally mourns for the HC Tornado jersey stowed away in the back of his closet for Nina’s New Year’s present. “So...who do you—”

 

He’s interrupted by a light tap on the door.

 

“Ninushka!” Dr. Nikiforov peeks his head in the room. His smile is as bright as ever, and Yuuri feels the tension in his shoulders loosen a little at the sight of it. “I heard Russia’s rising hockey star suffered her first injury on the ice.”

 

Yuuri watches his daughter warily from the corner of his eye for any sign of a scowl or sideways glance, but to his immense relief, the corner of her mouth pulls into a lopsided smile.

 

“I scored a goal,” she reports to Viktor with more enthusiasm in her voice than Yuuri’s heard in days. “I would’ve scored another, too, if those  _plugs_ knew how to handle their sticks.”

 

“Nina-chan,” Yuuri’s voice cracks painfully over the admonishment.

 

Viktor chuckles and pulls on a pair of rubber gloves. “Alright, tough girl—” he rolls his stool across from Nina and pushes her hair back from the blood-crusted cut—“let’s see what we’re working with here.” He swabs the area clean with an alcohol-free wipe and gently probes around the purpling skin.

 

“Doesn’t look like we need stitches,” Viktor reports, affixing a butterfly bandage over the cut. “Any headache? Dizziness?” Nina shakes her head no, and Viktor has her walk toe to heel forwards and backward in the room before sitting her back down to check pupil constriction. He’s right in the middle of instructing Nina to track his finger with her eyes when Yuuri interrupts them both with a loud sneeze.   

 

“Bless you, sweethea...Yurik,” Viktor corrects, barely managing to hold back a laugh when Nina groans.

 

He finishes his tests without further interruption and rolls back over to his laptop to type some notes. “It looks like we’re in the clear, but I’d recommend taking it easy for the rest of the weekend. If she experiences any nausea or dizziness in the next few days, take her to the ER.”

 

Yuuri nods. “That shouldn’t—” he winces when his voice comes out thin and reedy. He clears his throat with a liquid rattle and tries again. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

 

Nina pauses in her task of unlocking her iPad and jerks her head to Yuuri, eyes wide. “But what about the Christmas market? You promised we could go tomorrow!”

 

Yuuri tries to answer that he’d be happy to bring her  _next_ weekend when she doesn’t have a golf ball-sized lump forming over her eyebrow, but a surprise sneeze cuts him off—shaking his shoulders with the force of it. Yuuri sneezes once, then twice more before the fit ends. He holds his sweater cuff to his nose in anticipation of more, unable to stifle a congested whimper from the pressure pulsing through his sinuses.

 

“Bless you...times three,” Viktor says, plucking a few tissues from the dispenser and passing them to Yuuri. “Are you feeling alright?” He asks with the same tone Yuuri’s heard him use when asking a kid whether their tummy hurts or they have an owie on their knee.

 

Yuuri takes the tissues gratefully and presses them to his running nostrils. “We’re not here for me,” he reminds, dabbing at his nose instead of blowing like he really wants to.   

 

Viktor’s mouth tips into a frown, clearly unconvinced. He turns to Nina—“why don’t I walk you and your Dad to the check-out so you can show Aunty Mila your cool new hockey injury?”

 

Nina agrees happily because Aunt Mila is one of her favorite adults—tied with Aunt Mari—and also a top-notch snapchat selfie partner. Viktor lingers in the doorway at Mila’s desk until Nina is fully immersed in a dramatic retelling of today’s game, then tugs Yuuri back into the hall and down to a supply closet.

 

“I’m okay,” Yuuri says before Viktor has even closed the door. “It’s just a cold.”

 

Viktor cups Yuuri’s cheek in his hand. He brushes his thumb across the warm skin there—noting the faintest beginnings of sparse stubble along his jawline—and slides his palm up to Yuuri’s clammy forehead. “Colds don’t usually come with a fever this high, solnyshko.”

 

“I’m fine,” Yuuri reiterates in the hope that repeating it often enough will make it true. He takes Viktor by the wrist with the full intention of pulling the hand away from his forehead, but his body moves without his consent and he finds himself collapsed into Viktor’s chest, instead—nuzzling his aching head into Viktor’s shoulder.

 

“I’ll get you an uber,” Viktor whispers into his hair after a quiet minute spent rubbing gentle circles on Yuuri’s back. “I’ll drive your car home and make dinner for you and Ninushka.”

 

“But what about  _your_ car,” Yuuri croaks. The dry sterility of the pediatrician’s office is settling into his tonsils and sparking his throat with coursing fire that burns heavy and hot in his chest. Or maybe his worsening condition is due to his finally acknowledging his symptoms. Either way, Yuuri feels like sun-soaked garbage.

 

“I’ll call an uber to pick it up tomorrow morning.”

 

“Vitya,” Yuuri sighs and clears his throat, finally forcing himself from the comforting warmth of Viktor’s chest. “It’s fine, I can drive.”

 

Viktor straightens Yuuri’s glasses and tucks a stray hair behind his ear. “Just because you  _can_ doesn’t mean you  _should_.”

 

Yuuri knows he’s right. He also knows accepting Viktor’s kindness wouldn’t be the show of weakness he fears it to be. His therapist has reminded him often enough that needing help sometimes doesn’t make him a bad parent. Everyone has self-doubt. Everyone needs an occasional breather.

 

But it’s hard to be mindful of those facts when he is riddled with fever and accountable for a daughter by whom he can seem to do no right lately.

 

Viktor appears to understand without Yuuri saying anything, or maybe he’s just gotten used to Yuuri’s stubborn streak. Either way, he doesn’t push it.

 

“Has Ninushka had her flu shot?”

 

“ _Yes_ , Dr. Nikiforov,” Yuuri tries to sound haughty but his voice catches and he collapses into a barking coughing fit, ruining the effect. “She had it a couple weeks back,” he rasps when he recovers, face red with exertion.

 

“I guess there’s no point in asking if you got one as well,” Viktor teases, opening the closet door with one hand and squeezing Yuuri’s shoulder with the other. “Call me if you start feeling worse?”

 

“Mm,” Yuuri hums noncommittally, staring somewhere in the vicinity of Viktor’s chin instead of meeting his eyes.

 

“Promise?”

 

+

 

Yuuri should probably make good on that promise. It’s nearing 8:30 and he still hasn’t managed to gather enough energy to drag himself from the couch to start dinner. Driving home in the worsening winter storm and settling (rather, coercing) Nina into bed with her iPad and a snack has depleted Yuuri’s usually boundless stamina, and all he has the energy left to do is lie in a shivering, miserable heap on the couch.

 

“Tousan?” Nina’s voice sounds from somewhere in the room—Yuuri is too dizzy to determine the exact location.

 

“Sorry,” Yuuri sits up a little, wincing at the piercing pain in his temples. “I’ll start dinner in a second.”

 

He feels more than sees his daughter settle onto the couch next to him and wriggle her fingers into his. “Should I call Dr. Nikiforov?”

 

“It’s okay, Nina-chan,” Yuuri gathers every ounce of remaining strength to hold back his tears because _god_ does he feel like a useless parent.

 

Nina tightens her grip, most likely in preparation for an argument, (she definitely inherited his stubborn streak, Yuuri realizes not for the first time) but she doesn’t get the chance before the buzzer sounds, blaring like a megaphone down Yuuri’s ear canal.

 

“I’ll get it,” Nina runs to the door before Yuuri can gather the wherewithal to tell her something responsible like ‘don’t slide around the floor in your socks when you just got checked for a concussion.’

 

He also definitely shouldn’t have allowed his nine-year-old daughter to answer the door at this time of night, but Yuuri can’t deny the surge of cool relief that courses through his limbs from hearing the familiar timbre of Viktor’s voice. “Hi there, Ninushka, how’s your head feeling?”

 

“I’m fine, but…” Nina chews on her bottom lip and glances back at her Dad, currently making his way towards them on shaky limbs—hunched over at the shoulders with his hands tucked into his armpits.

 

Viktor clucks his tongue and deposits a couple of take-out bags on the kitchen table before rushing across the room to wrap Yuuri up in his arms. His coat is cold and slightly damp with snow but Yuuri folds himself into it, anyway, thinking how right being with Viktor feels. He wishes he could stand there bundled up in his arms for eternity—or at least long enough to chase away this joint-aching bout of flu—but the telltale rustling of plastic bags drags him back to the reality that he is a single father and doesn’t have the luxury of self-pity until his daughter is properly fed and tucked into bed.

 

“Vitya,” Yuuri reluctantly pulls away, tipping his chin towards his daughter who is busy digging through styrofoam containers for the eclairs she knows Viktor always brings with dinner.

 

Viktor’s smile is understanding. He pecks a quick kiss over Yuuri’s eyebrow— forehead creasing at the heat he feels there—and slides an arm around his back, guiding him to the kitchen table. “Dinner first, Ninushka,” Viktor scolds with a wink, lowering Yuuri into a chair. “I want to get a read on that temperature,” he tells Yuuri, quietly enough for Nina not to notice. Then, louder, “and after we can all have some dinner, yeah?”

 

“I’ll get the plates,” Nina offers, scampering to the cabinets so fast Yuuri can barely believe she’s got a mini nebula blooming in shades of purple and blue beneath her fringe. He knows her enthusiasm is mostly due to the promise of sweets, but it’s nice to see her willfully participating in an activity that isn’t hockey. He’ll worry about incentivizing her through means other than bribery when his temperature is low enough to allow for normal cognitive function. 

 

“Just shy of 39,” Viktor reports with a worried sigh when he pulls the thermometer from Yuuri’s lips. “Let me take care of things with Ninushka—” he slides his cold fingers over Yuuri’s hand and massages his thumb into his palm—“all you need to be doing right now is resting.”

 

Yuuri looks up at Viktor and just barely resists spreading his germs by grabbing his tie and pulling him down for a kiss. “I’ll rest after dinner,” he says, leaning his tired head in his hand, instead. He’s already here, after all, and Viktor went to the effort of picking up food. His mind might feel like it’s swimming in a fishbowl of dirty water, but it’s nice to be able to eat with two of the people he loves most in the world seated at his elbows.

 

Viktor doesn’t fight him, probably because he knows it’s useless and it would be faster to just let Yuuri have his way. He  _does_ insist on wrapping Yuuri up in his duvet like a human burrito and coercing him into taking five more bites of schi than Yuuri thinks he can reasonably manage.

 

“How’s Nina-chan?” Yuuri asks when dinner is finished and cleaned and Nina’s eclairs have been happily devoured. Yuuri thinks he might’ve dozed off at some point. He vaguely remembers a discussion about watching Moana for the hundredth time, Nina and Viktor rapping (poorly) to ' _You’re Welcome_ ,' and Nina laughing when Viktor got teary-eyed at the end, but the memories are fuzzy. Yuuri can’t be sure if they’re a reflection of reality or a fever dream composite of the many other times he’s seen his daughter and boyfriend bonding over their shared love of Disney movies.

 

“All tucked up with Grom and a movie.” Viktor places a cup of water and a packet of pills on the coffee table. “Do you want to try drinking some tea before bed?”

 

Yuuri shakes his head because it’s starting to hurt too much to speak. He swallows around the piercing daggers in his throat and lets Viktor settle on the couch next to him. “My poor honey,” Viktor says, wrapping an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders and squeezing him tight.  

 

Yuuri is overcome with emotion then—the source and nature of which he’s too disoriented to name. All he knows is it’s there and it’s strong—pressing against him from all sides— and it’s only means of escape is through his tear ducts.  

 

He covers his face with his hands before Viktor can see. “Sorry,” Yuuri breathes into his palms, the word fraying out at the edges. He’s not sure exactly what he’s apologizing for, but his heart has been battering against his ribs for the majority of the day and it’s the only thing he can think of to try and mitigate it.

 

Viktor squeezes the back of his neck. “We all get sick, Yurik,” he says softly, misunderstanding—or maybe not.

 

It’s not about the illness. Not entirely, anyway. Yuuri’s sorry that he can’t be the perfect Dad he wants to be for Nina, sorry that he makes her lunches that get her teased at school and sorry that she feels the need to act tough to protect him from that fact. He’s sorry that he didn’t get his stupid flu shot, and he’s sorry that he dragged Viktor into the mess that is his life—even more sorry that he loves him too much to ever let him leave it.

 

Viktor holds Yuuri in his arms until the sorrys fall away. He doesn’t say anything because Yuuri’s heard it all before. All he needs now is Viktor’s silent reassurance for the worries he so rarely voices.

 

His sickness will abate. Nina’s bruise will fade. Their lives will never be perfect, but they’ll hold each other up through the fevers and the falls because their love for each other is.

 

Yuuri drifts off at some point. When he wakes, it’s to Nina tucked under his arm—playing something on her 3DS—and Viktor snoring loudly on his other side, laying on his stomach with his mouth hanging open. Yuuri feels a pressure in his chest that has nothing to do with the flu.

 

He tries to lie still and enjoy this rare moment of peace between the three of them, but a sneeze rattles its way through his sinuses unbidden and he throws his hands to his mouth to catch it—jostling the bed so hard the hinges creak.

 

“Tousan?” Nina starts, looking up at her Dad. Then—as if suddenly remembering she’s supposed to be mad at him—gasps and looks back at her game. “Urgh! You made me lose the race!”

 

“Ah. Sorry, Nina-chan,” Yuuri sniffs in time with Viktor stretching his arms over his head and yawning.

 

“Mmrrff,” Viktor mumbles something unintelligible into his pillow. “Good morning, solnyshko.” He reaches up blindly to feel Yuuri’s forehead, brushing his shoulder, then ear, before finally finding his face.

 

It’s unlike Viktor to be so tired in the morning. He’s usually the first one up, already showered and starting breakfast by the time Yuuri has managed to drag himself from the bed to brush his teeth. But today he has dark bags under his eyes when he rolls over to kiss Yuuri’s jaw, right under his ear.

 

“Still working on that fever, hm?” Viktor sits up, brushing the hair from Yuuri’s face to better gauge the heat emanating there. “How are you feeling?”

 

Yuuri takes a moment to take stock. There’s a headache pulsing behind his temples, his joints are tender and achy, it feels like someone scoured his throat raw with sandpaper, and his sinuses are packed with concrete, but he has Nina curled into his side and Viktor carefully combing out his tangled bedhead with his fingers. So, all in all, it could be worse.

 

Yuuri opens his mouth to say as much, but something catches in his throat and sparks fire in his tonsils, rocketing him into another unproductive coughing fit. He shrugs a shoulder when he’s finally managed to catch his breath, slumping further into the mountain of pillows piled behind his back—evidence of Viktor’s late night ministrations.

 

Viktor smiles fondly and pulls the blankets up to Yuuri’s chin. “I’ll make you some tea for that cough,” he says. “Ninushka?” Viktor moves from the bed, shivering slightly when his feet touch the floor. “How’s your head this morning?”

 

“Fine,” Nina replies brightly, tongue poking out the side of her mouth as she jams buttons on her 3DS.

 

“Fine enough to help me make some tea and hot cocoa?”

 

“Hot cocoa?” Nina looks up, game forgotten.

 

“I hear sweets are the best antidote for hockey injuries.” Viktor winks at Yuuri from the doorway, and Yuuri sighs and closes his eyes. He doesn’t have the energy to explain why that’s a bad idea, but for now, he doesn’t let himself worry about it. Viktor will be the one to deal with the resultant sugar high, anyway.

 

“Really?” Nina asks, scampering to the door before Viktor can change his mind and force her into having something responsible for breakfast like milk or porridge.

 

“I’m a doctor, aren’t I?” Viktor laughs, leading Nina towards the kitchen. “And next weekend we can get some pryaniki at the Christmas market to make sure you’re fully healed.”

 

Nina’s voice carries from the other room. “You’ll come, too?”

 

Yuuri sighs and settles down into the mattress, still warm from Viktor and Nina’s bodies. The last thing he hears before he drifts back to sleep is Viktor voice, so sincere and content, Yuuri can see his smile in his mind’s eye.

 

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a one-off for the victuuri gift exchange and so didn't add a lot of background details, but of course, I /thought/ about them and am considering writing the origin story of how Nina came to be and why Yuuri is living in Russia and how he and Viktor started dating
> 
> (honestly I just really want to write more pediatrician Viktor, okay???)
> 
> idk y'all let me know if you're at all interested
> 
> as always, you can find me on [tumblr](http://youremarvelous.tumblr.com/)


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